Question
Would you rather:
Take Shawn Johnson's virginity, while wearing her team all-around Silver Medal from Beijing. It would happen at her parents house in Iowa, in Shawn's bed, shortly after a family dinner you were invited to. Mrs. Johnson cooked pork chops. The meal was unremarkable, but you won them all over with strong, America-centric conversation. Dessert was a microwaved Snickers bar. The sex would be forgettable and brief, except for Mr. Johnson breaking in announcing that there were extra Snickers bars only to witness his prized child's innocence being lost. You'd be tried and acquitted on statutory rape and have to register as a sex offender, but only in Iowa.
or
Beat the hell out of Rihanna and have amazing make up sex. Do no be fooled by the term make up sex. The term implies a level of commitment/relationship, which their wouldn't be. It'd be a simple case of love at first sight at a local Dunkin Donuts. Rihanna, battling weight issues, would be in line ordering 50 glazed munchkins, only to learn that she left her wallet in her flat (you'd come to find that in an effort to be more refined, she frequently uses British phrases, which appears cute at firsts). She asks you to spare a few quid. You pay for the small donuts, order a black coffee (though you feel racist doing so), and proposition sharing the donuts together in the park. She accepts. You laugh, you cry, you swoon. She invites you back to her apartment. The elevator is broken, which works out well as the 11 story stairwell trip acts as foreplay and you're both nearly naked by the top. Once inside you're amazed by the space and compliment her taste. She appreciates it, but is humble only to complain that the lift is always out and that she over paid for her flat. In some Mel Gibson, Patriot-like, rage you snap and hit her. Again. And again. She doesn't fight back and in some masochistic state continues to rant on and on, between blows, in a street urchin British accent. The violence turns into sex and the ranting turns into raving. By the end you're fairly convinced you just slept with Oliver Twist and question your sexuality. Rihanna's father presses charges, which are dropped, but TMZ goes wild with the story. They find a picture of you and airbrush braces on to you and circle the news. You never see her again, though you nostalgically go to the same Dunkin Donuts and order munchkins once a week for a year.
Take Shawn Johnson's virginity, while wearing her team all-around Silver Medal from Beijing. It would happen at her parents house in Iowa, in Shawn's bed, shortly after a family dinner you were invited to. Mrs. Johnson cooked pork chops. The meal was unremarkable, but you won them all over with strong, America-centric conversation. Dessert was a microwaved Snickers bar. The sex would be forgettable and brief, except for Mr. Johnson breaking in announcing that there were extra Snickers bars only to witness his prized child's innocence being lost. You'd be tried and acquitted on statutory rape and have to register as a sex offender, but only in Iowa.
or
Beat the hell out of Rihanna and have amazing make up sex. Do no be fooled by the term make up sex. The term implies a level of commitment/relationship, which their wouldn't be. It'd be a simple case of love at first sight at a local Dunkin Donuts. Rihanna, battling weight issues, would be in line ordering 50 glazed munchkins, only to learn that she left her wallet in her flat (you'd come to find that in an effort to be more refined, she frequently uses British phrases, which appears cute at firsts). She asks you to spare a few quid. You pay for the small donuts, order a black coffee (though you feel racist doing so), and proposition sharing the donuts together in the park. She accepts. You laugh, you cry, you swoon. She invites you back to her apartment. The elevator is broken, which works out well as the 11 story stairwell trip acts as foreplay and you're both nearly naked by the top. Once inside you're amazed by the space and compliment her taste. She appreciates it, but is humble only to complain that the lift is always out and that she over paid for her flat. In some Mel Gibson, Patriot-like, rage you snap and hit her. Again. And again. She doesn't fight back and in some masochistic state continues to rant on and on, between blows, in a street urchin British accent. The violence turns into sex and the ranting turns into raving. By the end you're fairly convinced you just slept with Oliver Twist and question your sexuality. Rihanna's father presses charges, which are dropped, but TMZ goes wild with the story. They find a picture of you and airbrush braces on to you and circle the news. You never see her again, though you nostalgically go to the same Dunkin Donuts and order munchkins once a week for a year.
posted by Gotty's Life at 10:10 AM
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